


Archie Goodwin Chose You

by Anonymous



Category: Nero Wolfe - Rex Stout
Genre: Abusive Relationships, F/M, POV Second Person, Unreliable Narrator, as is the abuser in the relationship, just to clarify the unreliable narrator is the OFC, this is basically the 'cool excuse. still murder.' of fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:33:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25959853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: What did you ever do to deserve a guy like him?
Relationships: Archie Goodwin/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: Anonymous





	Archie Goodwin Chose You

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22614451) by Anonymous. 



> Anonymous give me silence author, I will enjoy your work and there isn't a damn thing you can do to stop me.

There isn't much that you have to be proud of, but the one thing is pretty great. Archie Goodwin chose you.

You. He could have any girl he wanted and he chose you. He's awful cute and smart as a whip and he takes you dancing whenever you want, and you want to take him back to your mama and push him in her face and tell her how wrong she was about you. She always said no man was gonna love you. 'Men only want one thing from a girl like you.' You want to tell her to look, he takes you out in daylight and he's not ashamed of you and he even loves you.

You can't tell her because she has been dead for six years. It's a nice thought, though.

You've never dated a guy like Archie Goodwin before. He can dish it out as well as take it, but he's a gentleman, really. The first time you asked to go dancing he asked if you really wanted to or if you were just doing it for his sake, since you dance all night at the Ten Little Indians club anyway. What kind of guy thinks to ask something like that?  
Every single time you see him you tell yourself you're never gonna lose him. You're gonna be the best girl he's ever had, and he's not even gonna think about any other girl ever again.

The first time you met was at the gentleman's club. Actually you met one of Nero Wolfe's other boys first, this little round guy a couple of years younger than Archie. He was cute too, and sweet besides--he chatted with you between shows and when he found out you walked home every night he gave you cab fare right there--but everybody who's ever heard of Nero Wolfe knows Archie is the real prize. He and the other one were on a job at the time, making sure nothing could happen to this drop-dead gorgeous blonde who danced with you, and when the chubby one introduced you he gave you a heartbreaker's grin and a wink. Two weeks later, he sent a card and some daisies.

Daisies aren't the most romantic flowers, but it's more than anybody else has ever sent you. You sent him a card back (it wasn't hard to find an address for Nero Wolfe), and he sent another, and the two of you one-upped each other until he finally asked to take you out on the town.

That was almost a year ago. All the other girls laughed and said there was no way you'd ever get Archie to settle down, but you did. You told him two months in that you wanted to move in together so that you could wake up to his face every morning. He protested at first, said he'd like to but it wouldn't go over with Mr. Wolfe, see, because the old man liked having somebody around to send on errands in the middle of the night. You started crying because you love him so much and you didn't want to be apart even then. You were hearing your mama's voice telling you that no man was ever gonna choose you, and she was right, you weren't good enough for him and you never were and maybe Archie was a queer this whole time, maybe he'd been making time with Wolfe and all this was just a big joke to him. But he put you straight. He told you not to cry, said he hated to see a pretty girl cry, and then he said something funny about how Mr. Wolfe objected to making time on principle. He said he'd talk to Mr. Wolfe about it, and by the end of the third month he was sleeping in the double bed next to you.

He doesn't snore but he does talk in his sleep. He says a lot of nonsense that sounds like words but isn't. He's real cute.

On weekdays when you don't dance you like to have dinner ready for him. He gets home late for supper, seven some nights, some nights later, but you're doing the best you can. If that means his fish and chips is a little soggy... well, it's not like it's your fault. You tell him that, sometimes. If he wants fancy food he'll just have to go back to Mr. Wolfe.

After dinner almost every night you go out to the Flamingo Club and dance until you're dizzy. You want all the girls to see him and to know that you're the one who got him in the end. Between dances you gulp down glasses of bubbly. It makes your vision a little blurry and the light's already dim in the club, but when you look at him outlined against the spotlights on the dance floor he's even more pretty. It's all so perfect.

It's almost perfect.

Wolfe takes up a lot of his time. All day everyday, and sometimes in the evenings and half the night, too. You tell him how much you miss him but he says that there's a case and he can't just drop it. When you ask him what the case is about, at least--isn't that what you're supposed to do for a lover? act interested in their work?--he says that he can't talk about it. Private eye discretion, he says.

So a lot of days you end up sleeping alone. Which is fine. It's not like you didn't get by without him before. It's just kind of lonely in that third floor apartment, laying in the dark with just the ticking of the clock for company.

Then one day, and it's a Saturday, you both get home around three in the morning and you're so glad to see him. The money is good at the Ten Little Indians but the men are pigs and you've been waiting for more than a day to get your arms around Archie. He comes in just after you and drops his jacket on the counter and pries off his shoes and starts shuffling off to the bathroom. You've told him before to hang up his jacket but he never does. It's a little wriggle of irritation, but you don't want to turn into one of those nagging fishwives. You come up to him and put your arms around him, and you pull him down so that you can kiss him. He gives this look off toward the bath but he kisses you back. You love him more than you love life itself. You have to prove that to him. So you reach for his belt.

But instead of giving you that goofy little smirk and helping you get it off him, he steps back. "I'm just not in the mood tonight, Suz."

What is that supposed to mean? You know plenty about men and you know that all of them, even the nice ones, always want to do it. Usually you have to beat them back with a broom just to get any work done. So what's wrong with you?

You give yourself a quick once over and don't notice anything that might turn him off. You jumped right in the tub as soon as you got back and dolled yourself up and put a little perfume behind each knee. He should be all over you.

Unless there isn't a case.

Once the thought's in your head it all makes sense. All those late nights. All those dinners he wasn't interested in. How would a case have made a difference? The answer is, it didn't. There's never been a case. There's just been Archie and whatever broad he's been two-timing you with.

It's getting harder to breathe. This is just silly. He's swore up and down that he doesn't even look at other girls anymore. 

You go for the belt again, and he grabs your wrist.

"Rain check?" he asks.

He's not in the mood. He's not in the mood. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He gives you this confused look like he doesn't know what you're talking about.

"Not in the mood. What a load of bullshit!"

"I'm just... I don't really feel like it right now." He won't even look at you. You're wearing that nightie he likes that leaves nothing to the imagination and he's just staring at the floorboards.

"'I don't really feel like it right now,'" you say, mimicking his stupid fucking tone. "You fucking bastard. I do it for you when I don't feel like it!"

Which is true. Some days you're really not in the mood but isn't that what love means, never having to say no?

That gets his attention. His gaze snaps right up onto you.

"Everything I put up with and you're out swapping spit with some... whore!"

"Hey, easy," he says. "Suzie, I'm tired, it's been a long night. That doesn't mean I'm..."

You grab the first thing you can--that grandmother clock on the side table that tick-tocks all night long and drives you crazy--and you pitch it across the room. It knocks a hole in the wall and falls into pieces on the floor. He stares at it then stares at you.

It breaks your heart. "I'm not good enough for you, am I? I knew I wasn't. I'm never good enough for anybody. You had your fun and now you're gonna throw me away."

"That's not true..."

Then suddenly your hand is stinging. You look at it and then look at him and he's standing there staring with one hand on the side of his face. The skin underneath is a big bright shade of pink.

Good. Good! Let him find out how it feels!

You ball up your fists and take a swing at him. He ducks and sidesteps and you stumble. You swing again and he brings one arm up and it slams into you and then you're on your hands and knees, crying and crying.

"Suzie." He squats down beside you. "Suzie, you okay?"

"You pushed me," you scream, right into his face. He's never raised a hand to you before, you never thought he was that kind of man, but they all are in the end, aren't they, they take what they want and you get stuck holding the bag. "You fucking bastard!"

He's all white in the face. "I didn't... it was an accident..."

But you know better than that. He hurt you and you can't do a damn thing to hurt him back because he's the man and you're just the weak little woman. So you do what you can. You grab him by the arm like the boys used to on the playground and twist one hand one direction and the other in the other direction and you just wring his arm as hard as you can.

"What...?" he asks, but you're so sick of his questions. You twist harder and then you dig your nails into his arm and rip into it. "Ow!"

All you wanted was his love. But that's too much to ask, isn't it? It always is, no matter you who're talking about.

"You can't even do one little thing for me," you cry. "You're just like all the rest. You're just a selfish greedy pig." For a moment he doesn't say anything and you cry some more. Then he sits back on his heels and when you look up he's loosening his tie. "What are you doing?"

"I don't want to make you cry." He's struggling with the buttons on his shirt now. "If this'll make you happy, then that's what I'll do."

It's not until later, when he is turned to face the wall and the glow of your cigarette is lighting up the bloody scratches on his arm, that you start to think clearly. What if he was telling the truth? What if there wasn't another girl?

God, you feel like such a stupid little fool. You accused him of sleeping around when he chose you and you know he chose you. And even though he had every right to just stomp out the front door and never come back he brought you back to the double bed and let you do what you wanted originally.

Tears start welling up in your eyes. Archie Goodwin chose you, and keeps choosing you, and he's a better man than you have any right to expect. You love him, more than you love life itself, and you are never going to give up on him.

You snuggle up against his back and wrap your arms around him. He's not quite awake but he squeezes your arm with his and keeps dozing. You're so tired. You love him so much and you'd rather die than lose him. You'd kill yourself before you let that happen. You'd kill him. He is the single best thing that has ever happened to you.

You press your forehead into the back of Archie's neck, and you follow him to sleep.


End file.
